Lullabies
by esotaria
Summary: A lullaby spawns a conversation between Ruri and Hari about their respective pasts, leading to a deeper understanding of each.


Lullabies  
by Katie  
Disclaimer: Ruri and Hari do not belong to me. They're *checks dvd box*, er, well, I dun know who THEY belong to, but my dvd belongs to Anime Cartoon. This story belongs to me and All the Pretty Little Ponies belongs to mothers everywhere. Apologies for Hari's out-of-character-ness. I might and should rewrite this after I've seen the movie again-I like the idea, but I think I made Hari a little too mature. *g*  


~*~*~*~  


Blues and bays, dapples and grays, running in the night. All the pretty little ponies gonna be there when you arise.  
  
Hari looked up from what he was working on and studied his captain with interest.  
  
What're you singing, Captain? he asked.  
  
Ruri started and blushed imperceptibly; she hadn't realized she had been singing loud enough to be heard.  
  
It's a lullaby I heard in a hospital once, she replied.  
  
Are lullabies supposed to be sad?  
  
Ruri bit her lip as she thought.  
  
I don't think so, she answered. I've been led to believe that mothers sing them to get little children to sleep.  
  
Hari looked puzzled.  
  
Then why does yours sound so sad? he asked.  
  
The mother was singing it to comfort her dying child.  
  
Oh.  
  
Silence descended onto the bridge. It was late in the evening, and Hari and Ruri were the only ones in the room.  
  
Quietly Hari left his station and walked over to Ruri's, sitting on the ledge that surrounded and separated her from the rest. A flicker of her golden eyes was her only acknowledgment of his presence. His face was pensive and withdrawn, as if he were pondering something deep and personal.  
  
Captain, he started hesitantly, did anyone ever sing you lullabies?  
  
Ruri disconnected from the Omoekane as she formulated her reply.  
  
No, she answered. Those who I was raised to consider parents were mere holographic images, crude ones. I never saw their faces, and the only things they ever said were Very good, Ruri! Wonderful, Ruri! You're adorable, Ruri!' Her voice had taken on a faint edge of disgust. My only true human contact was with my fellow students, and I saw them but rarely.  
  
Ruri looked up at her crew mate and was surprised to see a wistful expression on his face.  
  
We never had anything like that at our facility, he said quietly. We had human teachers, but they were all distant and withdrawn. There was no compliments or praise; it was yes' when you were right and no' when you were wrong.  
  
Ruri was surprised.  
  
You had human teachers? she said.  
  
Hari nodded.  
  
We were a sister facility, he said, created in response to the results of the first generation, the ones before you. All your children grew up to be brilliant, but eventually committed suicide or wasted away because they could not handle the outside world. The leaders of the project did some research and came across the old study that showed that human babies who were not given human contact eventually died. They theorized that was the flaw with their first attempt, and created my facility as an experiment. Another generation was sent for the computer teaching, and a different group was sent to be given human teachers. The same principle applied to both places, though; knowledge was all that mattered. Words of affection or praise, anything that didn't deal with learning, were strictly forbidden.  
  
Ruri leaned back in her chair, Hari's words putting her into a somber and contemplative mood.  
  
It's strange, she mused, how our different upbrinings led to unexpected results. One would think that with the moderate affection I received, I would be more comfortable than you around people, and that you, having been treated coldly by people, would care nothing for them. Yet normal people tend to irritate me, and you are filled with a desire to please. An interesting set of circumstances.  
  
Hari shrugged.  
  
You were always smarter than me, he said evenly, no trace of envy or admiration in his voice. You probably picked up on the insincerity of their compliments.  
  
And you? Ruri asked.  
  
Hari shrugged again.  
  
It's a kid's nature to blame one's self for the faults of the parent. My feelings are just the result of my childhood desire to earn a smile or token of affection from my teachers.  
  
They taught psychology at your facility? Ruri said, and Hari shook his head.  
  
I've done some reading, he replied. Social Services picked me up once, and I wanted to know why they thought I was abused.  
  
We were all abused, Ruri said, and Hari nodded.  
  
Hai.  
  
Ruri studied her subordinate from the corner of her eye. His face was contemplative, so very different from what it usually looked like. It was usually full of energy, be it happy or angry. He was usually so childlike that it unnerving for him to be so...quiet.  
  
Does it ever...hurt, to remember? Hari asked timidly.  
  
Sometimes, Ruri replied slowly. Usually it just makes me...angry, that I was used in such a way. And I remember so little...the memories themselves don't bother me. It's the void, and knowing that whatever was supposed to be there is of no consequence, that hurts the most. I had nothing special to look back on, just hours of lessons and meaningless praise, until I boarded the Nadesico-A.  
  
Hari drew his knees up to his chest, and rested his chin on them tiredly.  
  
It hurts when I remember, he said. I know they would have been cold no matter what I did, but sometimes I can't help but think, maybe if I tried a little harder, or behaved a little better, maybe then one of them would have cracked, and I could have gotten a word of praise or something. Even a smile would have been heaven.  
  
He fell silent, and the room was filled with the grief in his words, the pain of both their pasts. It was enough to bring one to tears, but Ruri had none to cry, and Hari's had long ago been absorbed into a thin pillow in a lonely room.  
  
Would...would you sing that song? Hari asked. Ruri finally turned and faced him head-on; her eyes studied his intently before she gave him a slight nodded. Blushing ever so slightly, she brought the requested words to mind, and began singing. It brought comfort to the room, soothing the two occupants much as it had soothed children from ages long past.  
  
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry. Go to sleep, my little baby. When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little ponies.  


~*~*~*~  
Owari  
~*~*~*~


End file.
